Twenty-first-century scientists discover what Anglo-Saxon physicians knew more than a thousand years ago! But it's still a good read, says the Anglo-Saxon Monk...

A physician and his assistant mix up a remedy ... that's an awful lot of bad eyes, there! Medical Miscellany, British Library, Harley 1585 (Netherlands or England, c. 1250-c.1275), folio 7v. Image PUBLIC DOMAIN: click on it to go to the source.

New Scientist, that veritable repository of leechdom wisdom, has announced what we Anglo-Saxons have known for centuries, that leeks, garlic, wine and bullock’s gall – mixed in a brass vessel and left for nine days, I might add –is a pretty damn good potion for getting rid of nasty eye swellings – and something you twenty-first-century persons refer to as a ‘hospital superbug’. (What’s a hospital?)

Why only last week I used some myself in overcoming an infliction of sticky eye (I think you call it conjunctivitis), which accompanied the most epic of chest infections (we monks are prone to such things – no central heating yet). Well, do enjoy the read, blessed ones.And just to add that I’ve lined up an interview with one of the scholars on the Nottingham project exploring the efficacy of Anglo-Saxon remedies, so keep tuned...

This image is PUBLIC DOMAIN. Please click on the image to go to the source.

Wealhtheow, the milkmaid from Pontyberry, needs to confess, but will she have the patience to cope with her Anglo-Saxon priest?

Have you ever wondered, blessed readers, what it was like to confess in the year 999? But of course you have. Well, wonder no more... for now, via the magic of anglosaxonmonk productions, you can actually listen in to this most secret of sacraments. Not only will you meet Wealhtheow the penitent milkmaid and her bona fide Anglo-Saxon confessor, but you get to rub shoulders with Beowulf and even the Lord God himself! Just mind the cow pats ...

Ouch! A naked knight on a hobby horse found in the marginalia of a chronicle. British Library, Harley 4380 (Bruges, Netherlands, c.1470-72). This image is PUBLIC DOMAIN. Please click on it to go to the source.

Image, right: Charity begins with clothing your naked neighbour. Ivory binding, the Melisende Psalter (Jerusalem, c.1131-43), roundel detail. This image is PUBLIC DOMAIN. Please click on it to take you to the source.

It's not difficult to find naked bodies in medieval art, though you may need a certain mind-set and a stiff constitution in order to pursue such a task. Fortunately, the Anglo-Saxon Monk manifests both as he casts his cerebral gaze over a bevy of bare bods ...

Naked bodies are never incidental in medieval art.

There’s always a reason behind the exposure of flesh, and particularly the exposure of genitals – not something with which I have a great deal of experience, blessed readers.That reason, however, is not always the same.In biblical narrative art, for example, the naked body can convey both innocence and sinfulness: there's only a fig leaf between sinless docility and the awakening of rampant desire.

In scenes representing Judgement Day, the soul is usually depicted as a naked body as if to emphasize that we’re all naked before the Lord.Nakedness is often linked to shame or humiliation, but the context determines whether we’re meant to engage our feelings of compassion or utter a disapproving Tut! Tut! at the sheer excess of it all.

So there are the poor, naked ‘least brethren’ of Christ’s parable, whom we will want to clothe as if they were Christ himself (Matthew 25:36, 40); see the ivory roundel above; and then there are those blatant exponents of luxuria who rightly meet with our severest disapprobation. Outrageous!The most mercurial manifestations of nakedness in manuscripts are those really, really rude marginalia. Just what are we meant to think of half naked men balancing a spindle between their nether regions whilst inhabiting the floral border of a lady’s book of devotion? I jest not! I’m reddening even now at the prospect of taking you there ...